


You can fly away to the end of the world

by Sera_Clay



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 22:00:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3149819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sera_Clay/pseuds/Sera_Clay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzington, one shot. AU. Time has passed.</p><p>Not mine, no profit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You can fly away to the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

> You can fly away to the end of the world  
> But where does it get you to?  
> Pet Shop Boys, 1986

Dembe holds up one hand.

"Wait, Raymond."

The door to the small, luxurious private plane stands open, the steamy Florida air battling to get in against the powerful air conditioning of the jet.

Footsteps on the aluminum stairs.

Red takes another sip of his scotch and squints as a familiar figure appears in the opening, blocking only part of the afternoon sun.

"Come to bring me the final paperwork, Lizzie?"

Elizabeth Keen steps onto the jet, holding a slender leather attache case.

She's wearing her familiar custom tailored suit, an expensive watch that matches her platinum and diamond earrings, her trademark silk scarf at her throat.

Her small feet are encased in the expensive Italian heels she started buying when she was appointed a deputy director at the FBI, more than 18 months ago.

Just before the spectacular, scandalous Congressional hearings began, the ones that eventually resulted in Red's full pardon. Also the downfall of his enemies, and the apex of Lizzie's meteoric rise to national hero, which started when she and Red saved the president's life. Twice. One of those times on live national television.

"Drink?" Red lifts the glass in her direction, not expecting an answer.

She's all business, and has been for years, hard-faced, hard-eyed, his staunchest ally and beyond that, a cipher.

Red's come to terms with the fact that Lizzie became a stranger that evening, almost eight years ago, when he finally confided in her, told her the truth about the powerful men and women he had been battling alone for so long. About the price he and his little family paid, for him taking up arms.

"Please."

Unexpectedly, she drops into a seat opposite him, lays the attache case across her knees.

He hands her the glass, feels the brush of her fingers as she takes it from him. She must be tired.

It's been so long since he's touched her. The last time he remembers was just before the hearings, when he tried to take her arm and she pulled away angrily.

Then she took the podium and defended him for hours, intricate details spilling out of her as if she had his exceptional memory. As if she hadn't spent weeks grilling him, putting together and practicing her statement, her responses to any question she or Red could imagine.

Liz laid her matchless integrity on the line for him, and somehow, it was enough.

He's free to go, to come and go now.

Well, the autograph hunters are annoying. But they aren't armed.

Liz drinks deeply, holds out her half-empty glass for more.

He refills it without comment, takes another drink as he studies her face.

"Where are you going, Red?" she asks. It's not her deputy director voice, filled with authority. She sounds husky, as if her throat is dry.

Red watches as she takes another large drink of his very expensive scotch.

"There's not a problem with the pardon, is there?" he asks, keeping his voice light. There can't be, but what else could have upset her so much?

Liz shakes her head, her carefully coiffed hair falling perfectly back into place. There's been talk that she'll be a candidate for public office next fall.

She looks the part, mid-thirties, elegantly made up, her tendency towards plumpness ruthlessly disciplined by her personal trainer and her love of running marathons.

Red just grows grayer, more tired, every year, his sideburns thick with silver now, although he has remained active enough, continued his practice of ordering new suits from the spring and fall collections of his favorite designers. His shirts are still tailored in London.

"Milan," says Red, giving up on the enigma that is Elizabeth Keen. "So if you could hand me the paperwork?"

Liz passes him the attache case, and he unsnaps it, pulls out a sheaf of documents.

The pardon. His new passport, in his real name. The paperwork showing an honorable discharge from the Navy.

Red swallows hard.

He didn't suspect she had that planned.

He turns it over to reveal another passport. Opens it.

Stares at Lizzie's grave face.

Her passport is as new, as unstamped as his own. Elizabeth Keen has been her job for almost eight years. No holidays, no indulgences. Notoriously as tough on her own staff as she has been on Red and her other informants. On herself.

Red flips through the pages once again, trying to think.

"Is that a no?"

Lizzie sounds a little wistful, but when Red looks over she's just staring down into her drink, her face almost expressionless.

"What's the question, Lizzie?"

Red tries to keep his voice gentle, but the jet is getting hot, and he's ready to go.

"Raymond."

Dembe sounds unusually reproving.

Red looks over at him in exasperation, follows Dembe's eyes to look at Liz again.

She's just sitting, holding her scotch glass so tightly her knuckles are pale.

He owes her everything. Red tries again.

"Lizzie, why are you here? What do you want?"

She lifts her eyes then, and it's like falling backwards through time. Her blue eyes are wide and bright and wet.

Red blinks, but she's still just looking at him.

"Would you like to see Milan, Lizzie?"

Red's voice is very gentle. If he's wrong, she can be as angry as she wants.

Liz nods, her face slowly opening into a smile of complete relief.

Dembe rises, goes to the door, shuts it, then walks back forward to give instructions to the pilot, grinning without saying a word.

After he passes, Red holds out his hand, watches with a surreal sense of amazement as Liz takes it in her own.

Holding hands across the aisle, Red and Liz toast each other with scotch, without words, as the jet launches itself into the blue Florida sky, bound for Italy and their future together.


End file.
